With broken wings in desperate delay
An Angel flew through breaking panes of glass.
He hurried to his ward, a ten-year-girl,
A dying beauty, just catched by an car.

An old policeman, walking down a street,
saw him.

An Angel, he thought, and with easy smile,
He went away.

And now, the younger artist,
sitting at the stairs of an old church,
Saw flying things too.

And his first thought was: Catch it.



Mer-Yan